


the most noble line of durin

by lincesque



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Gen, Line of Durin, M/M, Not Really Canon Compliant, Unrepentant Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 14:39:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/pseuds/lincesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ancestors of the most noble line of Durin do not enter eternal rest. And why would they when their descendants provide them with so much amusement?</p><p>AKA The one post BOTFA where everyone lives and Thorin is literally haunted by the ghosts of his ancestors, all of whom are quite adamant that he do something about that adorable little burglar who helped him reclaim Erebor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the most noble line of durin

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink meme prompt [here](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=5927745#t5927745), which I've kind of taken and run off with and made it crack and teeth rotting fluff instead of porn. Oops.

* * *

  
  
"Do you think blood thins, father?" Thráin II asks, slightly mournful in tone.  
  
Thrór strokes his beard thoughtfully. "I have never heard of such a thing, but it is surely possible. Why do you ask?"  
  
Thráin II looks deliberately at Thorin and the look is every bit as displeased in death as it was in life.  
  
"Do you not think your grandson," he says, words heavy with the weight of disappointment, "of the most noble line of Durin, should have more daring in his blood? Surely he should be grasping the young hobbit of his affections by his arms and proclaiming his most passionate love for him and then ravishing him against the nearest available surface?"  
  
Thrór actually blinks at this but it is Náin who floats into position beside them. "I am in full agreement with my kinsman. It is unseemly for a descendant of Durin to mope about his love instead of taking direct action."  
  
Thráin I, for whom Thorin's father, Thráin II, was named for, takes the opportunity to join the conversation. He has a solemn personality that has very much mellowed in all the centuries since his death.  
  
"Indeed," he booms. "It is best to strike while the metal is hot, while the embers of heat still burn. Taking matters into one's own hands instead of waiting for fate is what we have always done, and what we shall always do."  
  
Thráin's voice is loud, pitched that way deliberately and almost everyone, a good dozen descendents of Durin the Deathless who had opted to follow their young King today, turns to stare, some thoughtful, most in agreement.  
  
There's a low murmur that starts, small pockets of somewhat heated arguments about the best way to woo a consort, with examples taken from their own days of wooing their beloved. The line of Durin are taking their young descendant's pitiful lack of action into their own hands, suggestions flying across the room. The importance of the method used to woo a consort is paramount, especially one who has proven himself worthy of the title a hundred times over with his daring and wits and courage in the face of adversity.  
  
Thráin II takes the chance, while everyone else is busy shouting, talking over each other, to stare at Thorin once more, pinning him with a glare. "You shall not make a single mistake in this courting, Thorin," he says and Thorin almost drops his gaze automatically at the lecturing tone, an ingrained reaction that remains from his numerous youthful misadventures. "It is of utmost importance that you have Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo, son of Mungo, as your lawfully wedded spouse and your consort. He will be a great boon to both the Kingdom of Erebor and to your reign as King."  
  
Thorin frowns and is about to make a response when there's a shallow rap on the door. It opens to reveal Bilbo, the very topic of the conversation, standing at the doorway. His bright smile fades away at Thorin's grim features and he looks almost hesitant to step into the room fully.  
  
"Smile," Thráin II hisses, wishing not for the first time that he had a corpreal form just so he can smack his errant child over the head. It's clear to everyone that Erebor's future consort is still unsure of Thorin's mood and affections and Thorin, with his current scowl and the displeased air hovering about him, clearly isn't endearing himself to Bilbo at all.  
  
Because Bilbo is not of the line of Durin, he cannot see the pale ghostly figures of Thorin's forebears scattered around the room, even though he has been told that Thorin was communicating with his ancestors. Bilbo, however, can feel the tiniest shifts of the air currents within the room and he shuffles uneasily as Náin moves, drifting slowly over and stops to hover behind Bilbo despite Thorin's darkest glare at him.  
  
"You need to make him feel welcome," he tells Thorin. He looks down at the poor hobbit and sighs. "He's terrified of you! How are you supposed to marry him when he won't even look you in the eye?"  
  
Thráin I is standing directly before Bilbo now, peering at his downcast expression. "He's such a comely lad. You would make a stunning pair on the grand thrones of Erebor." He glances at Thorin. "If only someone would have the daring to take the first step."  
  
Thrór is stroking his beard once more. "Do you think that Fíli or Kíli would be a better match perhaps?" he questions both Thráin II and Náin.  
  
There's a long thoughtful silence at this.  
  
"Fíli," Náin says finally with a decisive nod. "He's the heir after all. And they'd be blonde and golden and lovely together."  
  
Thráin I cuts in. "Nay, I say Kíli! He's boisterous of spirit and gentle of temper. He would suit the hobbit well. He may not inherit the throne but he is nevertheless a Prince of Erebor. His husband would still be well heeded in council, doubly so with Mr Baggins' natural intelligence and wit."  
  
Náin glares at this and Thráin I raises and eyebrow and tweaks at one of his braids. "I have the right of this, Náin, and you know it," Thráin I tells him.  
  
Thráin II floats forward, separating the two. "I think we should be asking the opinion of the two younglings. I already know that they both hold Mr Baggins in great esteem, but surely one of them is fonder of him than the other."  
  
Thrór nods at these words. "Indeed." He looks over at the gathering, "We should inform Fíli and Kíli of this as soon as possible, so they can sort it out between them."  
  
There is a general murmur of agreement.  
  
A hand slams onto a wooden table hard enough that it cracks. "Enough!" Thorin bellows.  
  
The room falls silent immediately and there's a soft, muted squeak of surprise from the corner Bilbo stands.  
  
"The halfling is mine," Thorin snarls, quick steps taking him to where Bilbo stands and he throws one hand around those small shoulders and pulls him tight to his side. "No one, not even my nephews, are to touch him. Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo, son of Mungo, is to be my consort."  
  
He glares at all his ancestors. "I will clad him in the finest silks and most delicate of cloths. He will glitter with jewellery hammered from the purests of gold and set with the clearest of gems, the very best that Erebor has to offer and made by my hand. His place will be beside me from now til forever because he belongs to me, surely as I belong to him."  
  
Thráin II looks away, running one hand over his jaw, and hides a proud, fatherly smile at the passionate speech.  
  
Náin and Thráin I have no such compunctions, beaming at each other, pleased.  
  
"Finally!" Náin sighs.  
  
Thráin I nods. "Indeed, I thought his Durin pride and blood would be too thin. I am glad I was wrong."  
  
Thrór is nodding his head, pleased at this outcome even as Thorin's face gets paler and paler by the second, realising too late that he's been neatly manipulated and with such ease too.  
  
There's the soft sound of a throat clearing and Thorin looks down at Bilbo, still held to his side. He jerks back, letting go with a muttered curse and an apology. "Forgive me for the outburst," he says stiffly, hands clenched at his sides and avoiding Bilbo's gaze. "I can offer no excuse except that I..."  
  
He never gets to finish that sentence because Bilbo, with a determined look on his face, tugs Thorin down by one of his braids and touches his lips softly to Thorin's, like a brush of a butterfly's wing. He leans back just as quickly, cheeks red. "I-I hope I was not too presumptuous."  
  
Thorin stares down at him, at the tip of Bilbo's tongue swiping over his lower lip, in nervousness or something else, he doesn't know. But it's that tiny action that breaks the last of Thorin's self restraint.  
  
One of his hands slides down to curl possessively around the small of Bilbo's back and the other cups his smooth jaw, raising his chin and allowing Thorin to lean down and return the kiss fervently.  
  
Both of them miss the two figures who slip into the room. Fíli and Kíli stand next to their grandfather, great grandfather and other assorted ancestors, an air of smug pleasure hovering about them.  
  
"Told you it'll work," Fíli says, grinning.  
  
Kíli glances over at his uncle and their burglar and winces, looking away rapidly when Thorin's hands go a little lower. "A little too well if you ask me," he mutters.  
  
Thráin II laughs, a booming sound and he smiles fondly down at his two grandsons. "One day, that will be you and your beloved," he tells them.  
  
Kíli's nose scrunches in disbelief as he tries to imagine this. "Surely I would have more restraint? I am not as repressed as uncle after all."  
  
"Do not think I have not noticed the two of you lurking." It's Thorin's voice, a rough rumble and both his nephews look over, trying for innocent.  
  
He's still holding Bilbo, who looks over as well, cheeks red and face flushed, but he's happy and his smile is bright when he meets their eyes.  
  
"It was for the best, uncle!" Kíli says, already sidling away in the direction of the door.  
  
Fíli is not far behind, following his brother as he inches towards the door as well. "The entire Company, not to mention the ancestors, were getting a little anxious when Mr Baggins started making noises about leaving for the Shire again."  
  
Thorin glares at them, but it's not as angry nor as unimpressed as it could have been. Bilbo is indeed very good for him if such a marked improvement is visible after only two kisses. One would think Thorin might even mellow if allowed further pleasures.  
  
As if he knew what they were thinking, Thorin's eyes narrow more and he points at the door. "Out!"  
  
Fíli and Kíli take the given opportunity and escape, laughing and pushing at each other. They both wink suggestively at Bilbo as they pass, giggling at the flush that action produces.  
  
Thorin waits until they're both gone and the door is shut firmly behind them before directing his gaze at the dozen of ghostly figures still hovering. Most of them promptly make themselves scarce, presumably off to bother all and any other descendants of Durin.  
  
Soon enough, there is only his grandfather and father left, lingering for a moment longer. Both of them whisper blessings over the two of them before they too, vanish, off to join their other kin.  
  
"Thorin?" Bilbo's voice is a little unsure. Although he cannot see the ghost of the ancestors, he feels the coolness of the room return when they are gone. His fingers tighten slightly around Thorin's where they are joined.

  
Thorin glances down at him and he softens visibly, lips curling into a smile and shoulders relaxing, the tension in his body melting away. He pulls Bilbo's hand up, cradled between both of his own and kisses the pale skin of the wrist, then the palm before he holds it to his heart.  
  
"Do you feel that?" Thorin asks, pressing Bilbo's palm flat against his chest. Bilbo nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows.  
  
"This," Thorin says, voice low, gentle, head tipped down so that his cheek is pressed against Bilbo's and he's talking into his ear, "is my heart beating just for you."  
  
Bilbo's eyes are wide and blue when he stares up at Thorin and when he smiles, it's brighter than the shimmer of the purest molten gold. He tilts his head up, a clear invitation that Thorin takes, pressing their lips together again.  
  
"As mine does for you, my King," Bilbo whispers against Thorin's lips and lets himself melt into Thorin's embrace once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also available to flail with/taking prompts on [tumblr](http://tumbloncat.tumblr.com) ♥


End file.
